


Marked

by JPA



Series: A Match Made in Hell [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Hopeful Ending, Hunter!Stiles, M/M, Past Character Death, Pre-Slash, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Stiles has a twin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 12:40:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13007982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JPA/pseuds/JPA
Summary: Stiles is eleven when he gets the courage to look into the mirror and see what his soulmate mark reads.





	Marked

**Author's Note:**

> This story was so, so, so unplanned. It was very rushed and probably isn't the greatest! I'm just trying to keep this account alive! This is unbeta'd!! 
> 
> Hope you don't think too badly of this fic!

Stiles is eleven when he gets the courage to look into the mirror and see what his soulmate mark reads. He reads the words multiple times in disbelief before swallowing the lump in his throat and putting his shirt back on.

He doesn’t bother with looking at himself, though he’s never really seen what he looks like in a mirror. He’s too confused and angry to focus on anything other than heartache.

_Did I say you could fucking move, hunter scum?_

When Stiles was younger, his parents wouldn’t let him see his soulmate mark. It was for his own good, he knew now, because a child shouldn’t have to live the first, most innocent years of their life knowing their soulmate’s first words are full of hatred. He was grateful that his parents allowed him to wade in foolish dreaming as long as possible.

To avoid him finding out, they got rid of all of their mirrors and homeschooled him. It was amazing how much his mom gave up, leaving her job just so he wouldn’t find out the first words his destined partner would say to him. Of course, Stiles hadn’t known this was the reason until he’d been foolish enough to look in a dirty mirror in the local grocery store’s bathroom.

The world wasn’t any kinder to his twin brother, who was also homeschooled. His mark was red, almost appearing to be inflamed with infection. _You’re the real monster,_ it read. Stiles had snuck a look a few weeks after he’d seen his own, and from then on he would never be able to look at his brother without feeling like a ghost, his past ignorance now buried six feet under.

Perhaps they were cursed. His parents had fairly normal marks, his mother’s saying, _It’s such a beautiful day outside,_ and his father’s, _What’s so beautiful about it?_ The two had met in a park, his father sitting beside his mother on a bench. They were both in their late twenties, and his mom had left her husband of three years for Stiles’ father. Stiles and Stan had been born two years later.

On a different note, it was laughable that his parents protected him and his brother from the cruelty of a reluctant future, yet they threw them into the world of supernatural creatures as soon as they took their first steps.

Stiles’ family was different. They were hunters. Stiles had grown up knowing this, and he hadn’t realized it was out of the norm until he was pulled out of daycare for making speciest comments about one of the werewolf children.

So, their family business was the excuse, along with the worry that he wouldn’t be able to control his magic. They told him, when he was younger, that they didn’t want him constantly moving from school to school. They had said they didn’t want to force him to interact with the enemy. He believed them because, at the time, he hadn’t had any reason not to.

* * *

 

Stiles is twenty-three when he meets his soulmate. It wasn’t a tough decision, really. He’d moved back to his hometown two days after his brother’s funeral, running away from his past misgivings to start a new life at the town he’d spent the first seven years of his life in: Beacon Hills.

He’d officially been a part of a hunting group from the time he’d finished the seventh grade to the night his brother died trying to protect him. It was almost too easy to leave behind hunting, especially since he’d never really been a part of the _hunting_ bit of it. Stiles was a healer, a caretaker, for the most part. He had magic, and he had used that magic to heal the wounded hunters that came to him for help. There were good memories, yes, but even the good memories were connected to the regrets that still lingered around him like a pack of hungry wolves.

His plan—a very loosely put together plan— was to set up a small bookshop in town after he settles in a little.

Now, it’s barely been two weeks since he’s moved back to Beacon Hills. He spends most of his time putting things away, watching tv, and sleeping. The money his brother had left behind for him would pay the bills for a year or so, if needed. It wouldn’t be needed, but Stiles wanted some time to himself before he jumped back into any sort of work.

His current state is something his father would cringe at. Laying on the couch with a half-melted tub of ice-cream resting right next to his head, Stiles hasn’t made any attempts at moving in at least two hours.

Sighing, Stiles moves the tub of ice-cream to the coffee table in front of the couch and stands. It was about time he did a run through the town and made sure things were peaceful. He’d been putting it off for too long.

He may have been done with hunting, but a person could never be too safe. When he’d first arrived, he’d noticed that his hometown is quiet, _too_ quiet, and he can’t stop the feeling in his gut that tells him something isn’t right. He won’t take any kind of weapon with him; if he needs to fight, he can rely on his magic.

Stepping outside into the August air is shockingly satisfying. He’d forgotten how beautiful Beacon Hills was, and he hoped he’d actually be lucky and get to enjoy his little walk.

Unfortunately for Stiles, he’s got the worst luck.

A few miles into the walk and he’s sure that he’s being followed by at least two people.  

“Hello?” Stiles calls out eyes narrowing. It wasn’t unusual for there to be a designated pack in a town. When Stiles was with the hunters, it was one of his brother’s jobs to communicate with these kinds of packs and make sure they weren’t harming humans.

Most likely, a couple pack members were tagging him, hoping to see if he was a threat or not. Before Stiles can try to call out again to tell them he meant no harm, an explosive pain bursts through his head and everything fades to black.

He couldn’t have been out for more than an hour before the sound of loud voices wakes him up.

“You _kidnapped_ him?” an unknown, female voice yells, sounding exasperated.

“I didn’t know what to do! I panicked!” another voice answers back, this one sounding panicked. “You told me to watch, so I did and—”

“I told you to watch him—to stay out of sight and make sure he wasn’t a threat!”

“Like I said, I panicked. He knew we were there, there was no other—”

An inhumane growl shuts the voice up. An audible clicking noise comes from where the first voice is, and, if Stiles had been right earlier, the sound was most likely of long claws drumming against a wooden table.

Stiles wriggles his fingers around, feeling out the situation. Tied to a chair and blind folded, he makes no move to try and act like he isn’t awake. Even if he tried, were-creatures had the upper hand of having a better sense of hearing. They probably knew exactly when he’d stirred awake, hearing his heart rate rise and breathing pattern change.

“Who are you?” the voice that Stiles had first heard says. It was obvious that the question was directed at him, but he couldn’t bring himself to answer. It was hard to speak when he was calm; speaking when he was stressed out or worked up was nearly impossible.

After a few moments, a different voice speaks up, “Wolf got your tongue?” Whoever it was cackled at their own joke. The voice was young and female, probably someone in their late teens.

“Erica,” the female voice huffs, “shut up.”

“What? Why?”

“You’re not funny.”

If Stiles wasn’t blindfolded, he was sure that he’d be able to see the weird tension in the room. As it was, Stiles could only _feel_ the tension, and it was actually starting to get on his nerves.

Suddenly, the sound of a door opening and then clicking shut makes Stiles jump and suck in a startled breath.

“Dear niece,” a smooth voice coos, “you should let me deal with this.”

“Yes,” the female voice agrees steadily, “I don’t see why not. It’s your job, and you do take pleasure in doing the dirty work.”

“Mm.”

Stiles, now confused as to what exactly was going on, tenses. Dirty work? What? He hadn’t even done anything!

“Aww, look, you scared him!”

“Erica,” the more mature female voice growls in warning. The person then lets out a long sigh, shuffling around the room. “Scott, take Erica to your house and hang out there for a little bit. I’ll text Isaac and Boyd to tell them to meet you there. Stay together, don’t leave the house unless you have to.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to go pick up Derek and Cora from the airport. I’ll call you once I get there, alright? Don’t worry about this,” she pauses, “Peter will take care of it.”

There’s no more chit chat after that, and Stiles hears as each person leaves the room, leaving him behind with ‘Peter.’ Stiles squirms, trying to keep calm. He’d been trained for this all of his life, what was so different about this situation from the training practices? There had been countless times where Stiles had been put through kidnapping exercises and he’d always managed to get away.  

It takes a few more seconds of squirming for the other man in the room to say something, and when he does, well, Stiles really wishes he wouldn’t have.  

“Did I say you could fucking move, hunter scum?”

Air gets caught in Stiles’ lungs and he has to swallow down the lump that’s formed in his throat. His nostrils flare as he tries to keep his calm, body rigid with the distress that whirled around in his chest.

“Hmmm,” Peter, his soulmate, hums. “You’re not an actual hunter, are you? You’re just one of their brats.”  

When Stiles doesn’t respond, he’s hit in the face with so much force that one side of the chair lifts off the ground and threatens to tip the entire chair over. Stiles, even though he’s dazed from whatever he’d been hit with, manages to straighten up in the seat.

“Who are you? Why are you in Beacon Hills?

He refuses to answer. He doesn’t trust himself right now, not wanting his first words to his soulmate to be as hateful as the words on his own skin. As sweet as revenge feels, Stiles knows the high is only temporary.

Just when he’s expecting another blow to the face, the sound of a door opening reaches his ears.

“Peter, what the fuck are you doing?” a familiar voice chimes. Stiles isn’t sure where he’s heard it before, but he’s sure it wasn’t one of the voices from when he’d first woke up.

“I know you’re not the most intelligent, Allison, but I thought you’d have enough common sense to know what I do for a living.”

Allison? As in Allison Argent? Stiles lets himself take a shaky breath. God, he hoped it was her.

“Wha—No, that’s not what I meant, idiot,” the female voice, Allison, harrumphs. “I’m asking why you’ve got a code-abiding, retired hunter blindfolded and tied to a chair.”

“Retired?”

“Yes, Peter,” Allison says, “Do you know what that word means, or do I have to go find a dictionary? The person you have here is Stiles Stilinski, a member of one of the most prominent hunter families in North America. He stopped hunting about a month ago.”

“Argent?” Stiles finally speaks up, voice tense. “Is that you?”

“Never thought I’d see you in a situation like this, Stilinski,” is all the voice says. “I’m getting him out of that chair, Peter. Whose idea was this anyway?”

“Laura told the boys to keep an eye on him. The idiots went overboard and dragged this unconscious fool back here. I was just questioning him when you rudely interrupted.”

“Questioning him? Knowing you, you were probably going to torture him.”

“Torture? That’s above my paygrade, sweetheart.”

Stiles hears Allison scoff, and he only has a couple seconds before she undoes the blindfold and he can match the scoff to her unamused face.

“He didn’t treat you too roughly, did he? Peter tends to go overboard,” she says, throwing the blindfold on the ground.

“I’m fine,” Stiles spits, looking everywhere but at the werewolf in the room. “Will you untie me now?”

“Working on it,” Allison grouches. “Were you always this impatient?”

“Patience is for those who weren’t just slapped around by a werewolf.”

“I thought you said you were fine.”

“I am,” Stiles replies, “but I’d rather get away from this psycho sooner rather than later.”

“Psycho?” Peter huffs, putting a hand to his chest. “I’m wounded. I prefer sociopath, darling.”

Stiles ignores the comment, standing when Allison finally gets everything untied. His head throbs, and he grumbles angrily under his breath about stupid werewolves and their stupid super strength.

Whatever, he’d make some sort of healing tea when he got home.

“I’ll drive you home,” Allison tells him. “Peter, tell Laura that Stiles is an acquaintance of mine, and she needs to have a serious talk with someone about making the right decisions. You don’t just kidnap people, even if you don’t know if they’re a threat or not.”

Peter snorts, “Yes, princess. I’ll be sure to pass the message on.”

“Good.”

With that, Allison takes Stiles arm and nearly drags him out of the house.

“He’s just going to let us leave? Just like that?” Stiles asks, only after they’ve gotten into Allison’s car.

“What is he going to do? Attack us? Peter is kind of crazy, but he’s only violent towards threats. I told him you’re not a threat, so that’s that,” Allison explains. “Plus, he likes to make Laura mad. Letting you go without having her talk to you will make her mad.”

“What an asshole.”

“I know, right?”

* * *

The drive back to Stiles’ place is quiet. Compared to the rest of her family, Allison was an angel. As far as he knew, she wasn’t very active in the hunting community, but he wasn’t really sure. They’d had only ever interacted with each other two times.

The first time was when Stiles was just starting to be homeschooled. The Argents were in town, and Stiles’ dad invited them to their house for dinner. Allison had sat beside Stan, while Stiles sat on his mom’s lap. Allison had asked for Stiles to pass the salt, and that was the extent of that.

The second time was at Stan’s funeral.

When Allison pulls up to his house, Stiles unbuckles the seatbelt without a word. He was sick of words. He was sick of everything.

“Stiles, wait!” Allison calls as she gets out of the car, too.

Stiles turns, “What?”

“I apologize on behalf of the pack,” she starts. “They’re really paranoid, and they have their reasons. I’ll tell them not to bother you.”

“Worried I’ll tell someone about what happened today?”

“Please, Stiles.”

“Whatever,” Stiles grunts.

Stiles climbs the stairs to his porch and enters the house, not before he hears Allison call out a soft ‘thank you.’ He ignores it, slamming the door and walking to his living room.

Plopping down on the couch, Stiles wishes he could sink into the cushions and never leave.

_Did I say you could fucking move, hunter scum?_

After leaving the hunting community, Stiles thought he’d never meet his soulmate. Why would he? He wasn’t a hunter anymore. How could he meet a soulmate who knew him as a hunter if he wasn’t a hunter?

Fate was definitely not on Stiles’ side.

Stiles had grown up with a creeping suspicion that his soulmate was an asshole. The words on Stiles body kind of gave that one away, but Stiles thought that maybe his soulmate just didn’t like hunters. He was right, and wrong. His soulmate didn’t like hunters, but he wasn’t just an asshole to hunters; he seemed to be an asshole in general.

With closed eyes, Stiles takes a deep breath.

_Did I say you could fucking move, hunter scum?_

It was just a misunderstanding. Peter had thought Stiles was a threat to the pack.

_Did I say you could fucking move, hunter scum?_

Suddenly, the world wasn’t as dark as Stiles thought it was.

_Did I say you could fucking move, hunter scum?_

What would Stiles first words to Peter be?

**Author's Note:**

> Should I add a second chapter (or sequal)? Tell me! 
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Match Made in Hell (Traducción)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15286404) by [Igni1LB](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Igni1LB/pseuds/Igni1LB)




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